


Recovering what is not lost

by anwise_gamgee



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Not Actually Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:40:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26462812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anwise_gamgee/pseuds/anwise_gamgee
Summary: Frodo comes to realise things are not as he thought they were…
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee, Rose Cotton & Sam Gamgee
Comments: 7
Kudos: 61





	Recovering what is not lost

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write some hardcore angst, with a sad ending and a lot of heartbreak. But in came Sam, and things got brighter without my wanting to. Because I'm not the emo kid I once was and Sam is a light in the dark places when all other lights go out.
> 
> Short and not so good, but it's just a little something to keep me writing in english.

He doesn’t love him. Well, he does. But not like Frodo loves him. He feels it like a stab in the heart. Not because he feels rejected. Not because he’ll never know the feeling of Sam’s skin against his own, but precisely because he does. He has felt the elation of waking up in the morning with Sam pressed against him. He has shared with him passion, and pain, and loss. He has walked to the end of the world with him, and back again, all the way certain that his companion felt the same way, longed for the same thing.

But it has all been a lie. A sweet, terrible lie.

Sam doesn’t love him. Sam doesn’t want him. Sam only ever wanted to please. Every kiss, every touch, every sweet word has only ever been a chore. Something Sam did out of duty. Frodo feels sick.

He is sitting alone in Bag End’s kitchen, pondering what he has just learned. Sam came to him this morning, looking flustered and babbling something about Rosie and not speaking to her before leaving on their adventure. Frodo had felt it, weeks before, when they had come back and there had been trouble in the Shire and Sam and the Cotton brothers had set it right. He had seen how Sam blushed when Rosie was around, casting sweet glances his way and smiling, all pretty. Frodo had felt a pang of jealousy, then, but he had thought it was just a passing thing, certain that what they’d been through could never compare to what the pretty lass could ever give Sam.

But there had been talk, then, of children and family. Frodo had started to understand that there was, indeed, things he could not give Sam. Things maybe more important to him than shared memories of ashes and starvation and evil creatures.

And so, when Sam had talked about Rosie, Frodo had put on a smile and called it a simple business. Sam should marry and live his happy, simple family life in Bag End. Right under Frodo’s very nose. With Frodo’s blessing.

He has not touched Sam for months, feeling too wretched to ask for a kiss or beg to be held. He has longed for it, but in Ithilien, and then in Minas Tirith, after their rescue, everything had felt empty. Then, in Rivendell, things had got worse. He had been sick again.

Anyway, Sam has not seemed to miss any of it. Frodo realises Sam has probably never cared for Frodo’s touch, never longed for it. He tries to remember the first time they ever made love, but the memory is twisted, uncertain, unreal.

It was a summer night, and they were sitting outside, up on the hill, watching the stars and speaking softly. Bilbo had left the year before, and Sam had taken to visiting Frodo often, to keep him company. The air was warm and smelled of evening flowers and cut grass. Sam was lying on his back, his hands pillowing his head. Frodo had leaned in and kissed him, without warning. He had apologised and started to rise and walk down the hill when Sam had caught up with him and told him it was alright. Told him he didn’t mind.

He didn’t mind. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? He didn’t want it, then, he just didn’t mind. But it was not what Frodo had heard, then. He had heard “I want you” and “Please, do it again” and so he had. He had kissed Sam hard on the lips, until his mouth had opened and he had whimpered with what Frodo had taken for desire. And Frodo had led him to his bedroom and had begged him to make love to him. And Sam had complied.

Frodo could still remember it clearly, the smell of Sam, his arousal proud and throbbing against his round belly. The taste of it, the feel of it in his hand, and mouth, and body. Sam was young, then, easily worked up. That must be how he had done it. Closed his eyes and imagined a pretty lass instead of Frodo.

Frodo stands from where he is sitting and empties his stomach in the kitchen sink. Tears stream down his face as his stomach spasms violently. He sobs. He cries out, horrified to be so alone, to be so dirty and so wrong. He has used Sam, he deserves to be alone and miserable. He should just leave.

“Sir?”

There’s a hand on his shoulder, soft and well-known. Frodo reels, getting away from Sam, wiping his face his the back of his hand.

“Get away from me!” he cries, his voice broken.

“Mr Frodo… what’s wrong?”

It’s too much for him, too much to bear. Sam, standing there with honest concern on his face, still supporting him in spite of all he has done.

“I’m sorry, Sam. I’m sorry for all I’ve done to you. I… I…”

He crumbles on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably now. He feels two strong arms lift him up and cradle him against a solid chest. He wants to flee but the hold on him is strong and sure.

“Sssh, there now, sir. You’ve done nothing, what makes you think that?”

“I’ve… Have you… have you ever wanted me, Sam? Answer truthfully.”

He feels Sam go very still. Then, softly, there’s a hand stroking his hair.

“Oh, sir, not that again. I told you this morning, didn’t I?”

Frodo feels a cold shiver run down his spine. He doesn’t remember asking that.

“You want to marry Rosie. I told you you could.” Frodo whimpers.

“Aye, you told me I could. And like I said earlier, I didn’t come up here to ask for your permission.”

Frodo tries to struggle out of Sam’s arms. Now he’s being cruel, talking like that. He holds him tight to his chest and shushes him again.

“Sir, please.”

“Let me go” he begs “I don’t want to hear it.”

Then, he feels a kiss on his neck. Soft and wet with tears. And he hears it again.

“Frodo, please.”

Sam is not being cruel. Sam is begging him to listen. So Frodo stills.

“I won’t marry her. I told you.”

“But, you said…”

“I said she expected me to speak up before I left. But you know I was already spoken for back then. And now I feel bad for I didn’t know she had been waiting for me, poor thing, and me head over heels for you and all that…”

“For me?”

“Well, of course, for you. I know you keep forgetting, ever since we got back…”

“But…you won’t touch me. I know you don’t want me. You just… you just do it to please me.”

At that, Sam’s face gets serious and solemn. He sighs, like he’s tired, and his eyes get teary again.

“I hate for you to think that. Whatever I did to make you believe it, I want to take it back. But I can’t. So I’ll repeat it: I want you, Frodo. From that first kiss you gave me under the stars, I’ve wanted you. And before that, even. I haven’t touched you because you wouldn’t let me and it wouldn’t have been right in your state, and now, it’s true, I’m afraid to hurt you. But I’m more than willing to try again. You only have to ask.”

“I don’t want to ask, Sam.”

“Oh…”

Sam looks away, his mouth quivering. Frodo feels his heart clenching in pain at the sight. Now he’s gone and made Sam cry. Again. He reaches a hand to Sam’s cheek.

“Then, if you don’t want me any more, why fear that I might not want you?” Sam asks weakly.

Frodo blinks. He doesn’t understand.

“I do want you. I just… I don’t want to ask for your attention, Sam. I want you to give it freely.”

It is Sam’s turn to blink, and then he lets out a shaky sigh, relieved.

”I shouldn’t have spoken about Rosie this morning. I’m sorry. I know how easily confused you get these days. It’s just… I felt that silly! And then you went on about me marrying her and I told you, nay, that ain’t what I came here to ask for, only a bit of advice as to how to let her down gently. And I left thinking you were alright and me ready to move in like you asked and here I find you, all miserable. I’m sorry, I should have taken more care of you.”

“You want to move in?” Frodo asks, confused and happy.

”Well, if you still want me to.”

Of course he wants to. He feels like the world is slowly shifting back to how it should be. He doesn’t understand why he’s been so hurt and why he’s sitting on the floor in Sam’s lap. Not that he minds it. He holds Sam close.

“I’m going mad” he whispers, laughing and crying at the same time.

“Mad Baggins under the Hill. That’s just as it should be. Don’t you worry, now. It gets better, I promise. You’ve been much worse.”

“Have I?” he asks, wiping his eyes.

“Well, yes. I thinks it’s that cure they gave you, for your shoulder and all. They said it would take a lot from you, but nothing love and patience couldn’t restore. And I have plenty of both.”

“Oh, Sam!” Frodo cries.

And he holds Sam even closer, sobbing with relief and joy. He starts to remember. Their second stay in Rivendell, the elven medicine and long nights of blackness. Sam crying because Frodo couldn’t recall his own name, didn’t know Sam’s face. And things getting slowly better.

“You love me” Frodo whispers in aw.

”Aye, that I do.”

“Don’t let me forget.” he says.

“I won’t.”


End file.
